


Echoes Forward

by Kethrielle



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Complete, F/M, Fade to Black, In the Fade, Slow Build, Time Travel, because MAGIC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-04
Updated: 2015-03-24
Packaged: 2018-03-16 06:30:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 18,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3477920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kethrielle/pseuds/Kethrielle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Solas is being frustrating, the Inquisition is being demanding, so Lavellan decides to take some time for herself.  She explores the Fade, trying to find memories such as Solas has told her about, and finds Fen'Harel in an unexpected place.  </p><p>The "present day" parts of this story take place shortly after Solas' infamous fade kiss.  The "past" parts take place after Fen'Harel's great deception, during the time Fen'Harel is said to have spent hugging himself and giggling madly in glee.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It really was all Solas’ fault.

Trained as her clan’s First, a mage with insatiable curiosity for history and root causes, she had focused on her duties to her clan; her talents had all been directed towards either protecting her clan or increasing their knowledge of elvish history. Even after the Conclave, she had simply widened her perception of her “clan” to include the soldiers of the Inquisition and the people of Thedas.

She had been well trained by her clan’s Keeper. She had a solid knowledge of the dangers of the Fade and it’s denizens. She could recognize demons, walk the Fade within dreams or without, manipulate the powers of the Fade in combat, and resist temptation from demons and spirits alike.

Nothing in her training or experience had suggested that she might be able to dream of places she had never been in times long before her birth.

Solas had shared this startling knowledge with her, and told her some of the things he had seen. Insatiable curiosity drew her back to the conversation again and again; only her many pressing duties prevented her from begging him for training.

She hadn't been raised in a Circle, of course, and so had not gone through a Harrowing. However, her Keeper had taught her to enter the Fade at will, and she had met demons while there. She hadn't succumbed, but the experience had still been unpleasant, and not something she cared to dwell on. And so, perhaps it wasn't surprising that she hadn't sought out the more innocent spirits that Solas told her about. 

As a student of elvish history, she was familiar with the idea of dreamers, and how they could enter the dreams of others. She knew it was a power long lost; until Solas took her for a walk in the startlingly restored town of Haven, it had never occurred to her that it wasn't necessarily as “lost” as she had assumed. She certainly never guessed it was a power she now mysteriously shared.

Had she been with her clan, she would most likely have indulged her curiosity. Let others tend her chores, ask the Keeper to excuse her from lessons for a time, while she hid in her aravel and explored these new possibilities. Then she would have shared what she learned with the Keeper, and they could have decided how best to use the knowledge. 

As it was, she was constantly on the run from one task to another. Closing rifts, recruiting allies, gathering resources. She barely had time to think, much less study or experiment. Since she also had a very strong sense of responsibility, she didn't hesitate to do what was needed. 

Then, a simple conversation with Solas turned into something much more perplexing. A walk in the Fade, a kiss, and then nothing. He refused to discuss the matter; he spoke to her in the same bland tones he had used before; he insisted he needed time. 

She was a patient person, but there were limits, and eventually, the personal stress added to the more general stress, and she knew she would need to take some time to herself before she started making mistakes. 

So she ordered that everyone take a four day furlough. No training, no repairs. No entertaining nobles, no banquets. Four days in which they could all rest and regroup. Cullen didn't like it, and she suspected that Leliana was incapable of not working for four hours, let alone four days. The soldiers appreciated it, as did all the people who did the actual work around the fortress. Hunting parties were planned, and celebrations. When Josephine chimed in with the opinion that it would be good for morale, the objections ceased.

As for herself, she told her advisers that she would spend the time in her newly renovated quarters, meditating and perhaps reading a few of the books that she kept finding as she walked through the library and “saving for later.” 

……………………………………………………………………………………………………….

She had gotten three days of uninterrupted peace, seeing no one except on her stealthy forays into the kitchens for supplies. She spent the first day of peace considering the keep, and everything Solas had told her about it. That hadn't been much, and she had learned a bit more on her own, but nothing that made her suspicious. 

Nothing in all their interactions had given her a reason to be suspicious, and she wondered now at how trusting she had been.

She had accepted without question his guidance to Skyhold, hadn't suspected that he knew more than he let on. She had been twice as curious as anyone else, and had explored the keep from top to bottom without pausing when they first arrived.

She had found the moldering pages of journals left by the Fereldan builders, the hints that this place had once meant something to the elves. She had asked Solas, of course, but she hadn't guessed that he would mislead her so deliberately when he claimed never to have seen anything about it’s original purpose in the Fade.

If she had known, she might have hesitated before experimenting.

Yes, this was definitely all Solas’ fault. 

Still, she could understand the shock that had driven him to her quarters, where he had spent the last twenty minutes spluttering incoherently and swearing at her in turns.


	2. Chapter 2

_**4 days earlier…** _

Inquisitor Lavellan stood up from her desk and raised her arms over her head in a long stretch.  Sighing in satisfaction, she looked back at her cluttered desk.  She flipped books closed, tidied the scrap pages left lying about, and capped her ink pot.  She picked up the paper that held her notes, snagged an apple from the otherwise empty tray that had held her lunch wandered out onto her balcony.  Apple in one hand and notes in the other, she leaned against the wall and read while she munched.

She had found every scrap of information she could about Skyhold, the events of the kingdom of Ferelden when Skyhold was being built, and had tried to find out about the man who had been in charge of it’s construction.  There hadn't been much, but she was satisfied that she knew everything she could discover from here.

Finished with the apple, Lavellan grinned, took a couple skipping steps towards the balcony railing, and pitched the core as far as she could towards the peaks that towered around Skyhold.  She hadn't wanted to let on to Solas what she was planning in case she failed, so she hadn't been able to consult him about his methods of observing history in the Fade.  He had certainly made it sound as if he did no other preparation than simply setting wards and falling asleep.  She wasn't capable of doing anything with so little planning, which was why she’d spent the first half of the day studying.  Now, though, she was ready.

Lavellan made her way back into the bedroom, and settled herself comfortably on the low sofa that sat in her quarters.  She took a deep breath and settled her mind into the particular combination of focus and drifting that allowed her to drift to sleep at will, and propel her consciousness into the Fade.  Not surprisingly, it took a few more minutes than usual, but finally her eyes drifted closed.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Lavellan opened her eyes in the Fade, and gasped.  She wasn't standing, as she had expected, in the newly constructed fortress of Skyhold.  She wasn't standing, as she had hoped, in the middle of some ancient elvhen ritual or ceremony.  She was standing at what appeared to be the top of an impossibly high and snow covered mountain that she didn't recognize.

She wondered what had gone wrong, and was about to leave the Fade, when it occurred to her that even if she hadn't gotten when she had wanted to go, she certainly was somewhere she’d never been before, and it was worth exploring.

She set off through the snow, shivering slightly in a purely psychological response to the frozen world she found herself in.  

The mountain was impossibly high, a strong breeze blew over it, creating deep drifts of snow in sheltered corners and bare scoured stone in the open areas.  It didn't seem as if anyone had ever been here, though there were what appeared to be paths, or perhaps game trails, leading down one side.  She was just starting to explore one when she noticed a roaring sound in her ears.

She was concerned at first, thinking perhaps something was wrong with her connection to this place, until she noticed that as she continued on, the sound became louder, and slowly more distinct.  Rounding a bend in the trail, she found the source.  Not internal at all, but an enormous waterfall pounding down the side of the mountain from some hidden source.

Lavellan grinned, and found a convenient rock to sit on and just watch the water go rushing past her.  She loved waterfalls, had been thrilled to discover the one in Skyhold, and spent more time than she otherwise would have in the undercroft simply to watch all the water go pouring past her.  Endlessly powerful, eternally magnificent, there was something magical about waterfalls.

Suddenly, the thought of undercroft gave her an idea, and she scanned the trail she’d been on.  Was it possible…?  Yes, it did look as if the trail led behind the waterfall.  Grinning, giddy with a joy inspired by nothing more complicated than the wonders of nature, Lavellan stood and followed the path.

As she neared the fall, the wind of it’s passing kicked up around her, blowing loose strands of hair into her face and covering her with mist.  She carried on, and was finally able to duck into a natural cave behind the great waterfall.  She stood there smiling with pleasure at having found a secret, even in this uninhabited place, for several moments before taking a look around the cave itself.

And nearly tripped over her own feet in her shock at what she saw.  This cave was somewhere she’d been before.  Wandering around the cave, dragging her fingers along the wall, she tried to settle this new idea in her mind.  This waterfall wasn’t just similar to Skyhold’s, it _was_ Skyhold’s.  The cave where she stood was - or, more accurately would be - the undercroft.  

She hadn't come to the wrong place, only the time was off.  She was standing where Skyhold would be built, at some unknowable time in the future.  Lavellan wrapped her arms around herself and laughed out loud, grinning at the echoes in the cave.  Laughing again, she threw out her arms and spun in a circle.  She had done it!  It may not be perfect, but she had traveled to the past in the Fade!  Still snickering slightly, she left the cave, making her way back up the path.  She couldn't wait to look around again with this new knowledge and see if she couldn't recognize something now that she knew what to look for.

In her excitement, she didn't notice that she took a different path than the one she’d come down.  She probably wouldn’t have noticed anything, since it also went back towards the peak, but when she reached a sheltered spot where the snow was thick, she saw footprints.

Lavellan frowned.  How could she leave footprints?  Looking back, she didn't see any sign of her own passage.  Looking ahead again, she stepped forward and set her foot in the print there in the snow.  

It was much larger than her foot.  

Perhaps she wasn't as alone as she had assumed.  Frowning, she looked around, and listened closely, but heard nothing more than the rushing of the waterfall and the unceasing howl of the wind.

For a moment, she was tempted to leave the Fade, but then she laughed at herself.  This is what she had come for - to explore, to observe people of the past going about their business in what would be Skyhold.  

Shaking off the momentary thrill of fear, she followed the footprints in the snow.


	3. Chapter 3

Lavellan followed the footprints in the snow slowly, pausing frequently to look around and try to make her current surroundings match up with what Skyhold looked like in the current time.  It wasn't going very well, the mountain had been changed quite a bit between years and construction, but it was an entertaining exercise.

The footprints weren't in a straight line, and she frequently lost them when the walker passed out of areas sheltered from the wind and onto the scoured rock of the mountain.  She didn't mind, it was almost relaxing to make use of her long neglected tracking skills.  Her magic - and subsequent status as her clan’s First - had come late; she was already a passable hunter, and had accepted her vallaslin before her other talents were discovered.  She hadn't minded giving up the more physically demanding work of hunting in favor of learning and studying, but using those old tracking skills felt a bit like going home.

After some time, the footprints left the snow for a wind-swept plateau, and she looked around.  The sun was high, the mountains spread out before her.  It was a wonderful view, but didn't give any indication as to where the creator of those mysterious footprints had gone.  She spent some time wandering around, until she came on a short downhill path that ended at a deep fissure in the  stone that rose up higher than her current location.

She hurried down the path, and there in a sheltered spot where snow had blown into the opening was a single print.  This one wasn't a footprint, but a large paw print.  Lavellan knelt down to examine it.  She wasn't unfamiliar with wolf tracks, but this one was huge - the paw itself was slightly larger than the palm of her hand, and her widespread fingers could only barely reach the toe prints.  Standing again, she grinned fiercely.  

Maybe she’d be getting a show in the Fade after all.  Perhaps her mystery companion was a hunter, who had tracked a truly magnificent wolf for quite some distance.  How he managed to take the beast down by himself, she didn't know, but she was eager to find out.  She hurried into the fissure, making for the gleam of sunlight she could see at the far end.

It wasn't a long path, but when she reached the far end, she gasped.  She was standing in a sort of valley, the solid walls of the mountain rising steeply on all sides, making a roughly round shape that was completely sheltered from the wind, and warmed by the sun.  

The ground here was covered with thick, brilliant green grass.  The sun was shining brightly on the opposite side of the valley from where she stood, casting deep shadows on some places and brilliantly bright light on others.  Lavellan stepped forward slowly, reveling in the bright colors, and drawn to the center of the valley and it’s completely unexpected feature.

A massive, circular table sat there, surrounded by nine equally impressive chairs.  All were hewn from stone, with inlaid stone mosaic work.  There was something amazingly solid about the table and chairs, and Lavellan walked slowly around them while she tried to puzzle it out.

It wasn't until her attention was caught by a splash of color on the far side of the table that she could put words to what was different.

Everything else that she had seen on this journey had been realistic enough, but still slightly… faded.  The colors just slightly washed out, the surfaces just slightly translucent.  Not something she had noticed until now, but clearly not the real thing, either.  This valley, though, was not only normally bright - it was slightly too bright; the colors slightly stronger than in the waking world, the ground beneath her feet not only completely solid, but faintly springy.  

It was an area that was simply drowning in magical energy.  She couldn't guess why, the only thing that made any sense was something Solas had told her - that areas which had seen great events drew spirits and dreamers to themselves.  Perhaps this was the area that had supposedly held great importance to the ancient elves.

With that thought in mind, she approached the table, more determined than ever to get a good look at it and the chairs surrounding it.  

The table looked to have been shaped out of a single piece of stone: it had no seams that she could see.  The thing was as high as her waist, the top of the table was thicker than the width of her palm when she held it up for comparison.  The round top tapered down to a single pedestal base.  Lavellan dropped to her knees and crawled beneath it; the table had either sat there long enough for the grass to thoroughly hide the base, or it was rooted to the rock beneath it.

Pushing up, she circled the table again, this time examining the chairs.  Each was, like the table, carved from a single piece of stone; each had a different mosaic pattern laid into the back of it.  The patterns felt somehow familiar, but the stones used to created them were all of the same color with only minor variations in tone; despite frowning at them until her eyes crossed, she couldn't quite make them resolve into a familiar pattern.  They were beautiful works, though, each chair sporting a different color of stones than the ones around it.

She looked back at the table.  The entire surface was another mosaic, this one incorporating all nine colors in the mosaics on the chairs.  Lavellan stopped at a chair with mosaic stones ranging from deepest, flattest black to very dark grey.  This mosaic was slightly different, the mosaic pattern wasn't flat, but raised slightly in some areas.  She wondered dizzily if there weren't two patterns here.  

Hoping to solve this puzzle, at least, she reached out and set her fingertips lightly on the black stones.

A ripple seemed to pass through the valley, and just as she looked up, she heard a low, resonant growl.  Looking around in surprise, her eyes landed on the fissure that led to the valley.  Even with the sun shining brightly behind her, the opening was deeply shadowed, and she couldn't see what was there.  

Suddenly, she remembered the hunter and his prey.  The wolf who had left those prints was enormous.

Then the growl came again, seeming to fill the valley, and this time, she saw the gleam of eyes in the shadow.  Red eyes, and there seemed to be six of them.

With a startled gasp, she wrenched her mind out of the Fade, coming back to herself with a jolt as she sat bolt upright on the sofa in her room.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

It took some time for her heart to stop trying to pound its way out of her chest and for her breathing to settle down.  By the time it had, she was ready to laugh at herself.

She had been in the Fade to observe memories of this place from the past, and at the first opportunity she had fled in fear.  Although she had, in that moment, felt as if she were the focus of the wolf’s stare, it wasn't possible.  The wolf who had left that paw print in the snow was long dead, whether he had been slain by the hunter whose steps she had been following or not.  

Shaking her head at how involved she had become in the memory, she settled back against the cushions on her sofa, and sought the Fade again.

Her last thought before she reached the Fade was that it was a good thing Solas hadn't observed her behavior.  Running from a dream of a memory because of Dalish fables?  He would have laughed himself sick at her expense.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: an actual conversation!


	4. Chapter 4

_Codex:_

_In the time of Arlathan, when the Creators still walked among the People, there was tension between them.  The Creators fought amongst themselves, and their followers and devotees fought also._

_In an attempt to stop the bloodshed and endless antagonism, Mythal suggested that the Creators live apart from each other, each surrounded by their people but keeping to themselves.  They had still to meet, though, to work out problems without bloodshed, and so a neutral meeting place was chosen._

_This helped delay the inevitable, but was ultimately futile.  Eventually, the situation devolved into open battle between the Creators, which only ended with Fen’Harel’s infamous betrayal._

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

When she opened her eyes in the Fade, Lavellan was slightly disappointed to find herself not in the small valley, but somewhere on the mountain peak.  It didn't take her long to locate the fissure leading to the valley, though, and she walked cautiously along it.

She stopped in the shadows at the end of the fissure, looking around for any sign of the wolf.  She was still slightly nervous about a creature that large - let alone a wolf that large, in the Fade - but she didn't see any sign of it.  She stood in the shade, studying the mosaic on the chair back closest to her.

This was the brown mosaic, and from a distance she could almost pick out a pattern in the swirls of stone that ranged in color from the lightest tan to the richest dark brown of the soil in a forest after it rained.  Something in the subtle, simple sweeps of the lines niggled at her memory.  She stepped forward, her attention focused on the back mosaic in front of her.  

As she took a single step into the sunlight, she realized she wasn't alone in the valley.

There was an elvhen man crouched behind the chair three seats away from the one she had focused on.  He was quite a bit… more impressive… than the elves she knew, closer to a human in his proportions.  Broad shoulders, muscular arms.  He wore a form fitting shirt and pants under a loose open vest that reached his knees.  The clothing showed off powerful legs and a lithe, well shaped torso.  He had dark brown hair, thick and coarse, pulled away from his face.  And oh, what a face.  Sharply chiseled features, a strong, square chin, eyes as black as the deepest night.  Lavellan froze for a minute simply to admire him.

He must be the hunter whose footprints she had followed, but what was he doing now?  She took several careful steps to the side, staying close to the valley wall.  She knew there was no reason to sneak, but somehow his absolute focus made her feel like any sound would disturb him.

She got to where she could see the chair he was working on.  It was the one with the yellow mosaic.  The colors here ranged from the clear brilliant yellow of a sunlight noon to the deep golden gleam of a single candle in the darkness.  She couldn’t tell what the pattern was.  Or, rather, had been she noticed suddenly.

The hunter was defacing the mosaic.  He had a jar of paint near him, and was painting select stones black.  He was being deliberate about it, painting one stone at a time; obscuring the original image in favor of what seemed to be a wolf sitting on its haunches, with its head thrown back in a howl.

Lavellan was deeply shocked at this casual vandalism, and she took a step towards him, her left hand outstretched futilely, as if to stop him.

To her surprise, the anchor on her palm flared, and suddenly the hunter spun to face her, his eyes locking on hers.  He glowered at her as he set the paintbrush down and rose.  He was tall, she noticed distantly; his eyes swept over her appraisingly, then narrowed as the settled on her face.

“How dare you to come here, slave?”

Her jaw dropped, and she couldn't resist a quick glance over her shoulder to be sure he wasn't speaking to some other person of memory.  There was no one there, and his eyes were definitely boring into hers when she turned back.

“Well?”  Just that word, but his tone spoke volumes of his expectation of an answer and his disdain for her.  

The attitude had her narrowing her eyes in turn, her own temper rising to her defense.

“You’re awfully rude for a mere memory.  What you’re doing isn't possible, but the best you can come up with are demands and insults?  Either contribute something useful, or do us both a favor and be silent.”

She would have taken a moment to revel in the slack-jawed expression he was wearing, but it didn't take him long to regroup.  Loudly.

“You dare?   You won’t find your precious June here, you know, nor can he protect you from my wrath.  I want an explanation.  Now!”  That last was barked at her as he closed the distance between them to tower over her.

Lavellan sighed, and deliberately relaxed her tense shoulders.  Offering him a conciliatory smile, she held out her hand.  “My apologies, hunter.  I forgot my manners in my surprise.  My name is Kelara.  I came here to observe what memories could be found; I did not think it was possible to be seen by anyone here.”

He looked down at her hand, then back to her face.  “My name is not ‘hunter,’ slave.”  His teeth bared in a sneer.  “Though you have some pitiful store of magic, you cannot walk here without my knowledge.  Now, begone!”  

She felt a swell of magic, and the Fade rippled around her.  His magic reminded her of the ocean; a wave of raw power that attempted to sweep her off the mountain altogether.  She concentrated her will before she was swept away entirely; the anchor flared again, and she found herself standing firmly in place.  As the Fade settled down around her, she looked back at him and raised a single eyebrow.

“Tsk tsk.  All force, no finesse.  My Keeper would be hugely disappointed.  If you do not wish to be called ‘hunter’ then you’ll have to tell me what to call you instead.”

He stared at her, his eyes calculating.  He seemed to decide she was in earnest because he answered.  “You may call me Fen.”  Something flickered in his expression, but it was gone too quickly for her to make it out.

Lavellan glanced at the wolf he’d been painting on the back of the chair, and smothered a laugh.  “Fen, huh?  Creative.”   She gave him a more genuine smile and wiggled her hand at him.  “Pleased to meet you, Fen.  I’m sure this will be interesting.”

He reached up, and clasped her hand in his own, looking as if he didn't quite believe what was happening.  

She could certainly understand the feeling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a long one, but there are some things I wanted to explain.
> 
> Location: based on what we know about Skyhold, it was built by Fereldens. They knew it was a place that had once been important to the elves - crockery and such that had been discovered that indicated not only different clans, but different times. This story builds on that idea to give the future site of Skyhold a sort of “knights of the round table” thing, where the elven gods met on neutral ground. After the creators were sealed away, the elves somehow (I don’t know how, it’s not important to the story) found the place, and used it for their own purposes - it would be sacred to them, since their gods had spent time there.
> 
> Also, anywhere with nine powerful gods, all with high emotions and full of magic, would probably stand out in the Fade.
> 
> Timing: the codex says that Fen’Harel spent “centuries” in a far corner of the world hugging himself and giggling madly after he sealed the gods away. Its reasonable to assume that at least some of that time would be spent here. 
> 
> I figured there was plenty of time for this, and for the elves to find it before Tevinter conquers them because of this codex and also because Solas implies that he “woke up” to find that his actions had caused so much trouble. So…. if he spent several centuries giggling, he couldn’t have been asleep during that time - there must be a significant amount of time between the Betrayal and Tevinter ruining everything.
> 
> Art: As far as the mosaics go, they are inspired by the ones we see in Mythal’s temple, but not quite the same. For one thing, the ones in the temple were made by worshippers, but the ones on the chairs were made by the gods themselves. So, they’re different, and also probably a bit of an ego trip. I imagine them incorporating the patterns that will become vallaslin. I assigned colors to each god, and they are:
> 
> Elgarnan - blue; Mythal - green; June - brown; Sylaise - red; Andruil - yellow; Fen’Haral - black; Dirthamen - purple; Ghilan’nain - white; Falon’Din - silver
> 
> It amuses me to think of him defacing artwork on the chairs that belonged to the other gods.
> 
> Miscellaneous: Fen’Harel doesn’t recognize the anchor as “his” for a couple reasons: a) he’s got some time between now and uthenera, I figure he and is magic will grown and change during that time; b) whatever corypheus did probably changed the feel of the orb’s magic a bit; and c) Lavellan’s own power has changed the anchor’s magic too - we know she figures out new ways to use it, and makes it more powerful, and as a mage, she has her own power that she is probably using as well. That’s my opinion, anyway.
> 
> Finally, the codex entry at the beginning isn’t real, I made it up. Just in case it was so awesome some believed me, I didn’t want anyone to start a frustrating hunt for the bit of lore they missed in the game. ;-)
> 
> If you have questions, ask!!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick chapter, Fen'Harel's POV of the meeting. :-)

Fen’Harel leaned back and admired his handiwork.  The black paint had been applied so carefully that it hadn't dripped at all before drying; the howling wolf was perfect, and allowing the original color of the mosaic to show through where the wolf’s eye was, added something to his satisfaction.  If Andruil ever saw this, she would be incoherent with rage.

He could have changed the mosaic with magic; he could have pulverized the table and chairs with a thought.  This was much more satisfying, and he still laughed under his breath whenever he pictured the reaction to his “art.”  Only the tail was left, and then he could move on to the next project.  He still hadn't decided if he should work around the table, or in the order of his ire at the others.  Either way, Elgar’nan’s chair was next, so perhaps he could put off the decision a little longer.

Just as he raised the brush again, there was a flare of magic, and he spun around.  A slave was standing behind him, an expression of shock on her face.  He snarled.  None were allowed here, except for the gods, and now only him.

He let his gaze sweep over her in a practiced motion; the look had brought more than one slave to their knees, begging for mercy and the opportunity to provide other favors.  He glared when his eyes returned to her face, taking in June’s markings there.

“How dare you to come here, slave?”

The foolish woman looked behind her, as if she couldn't believe he was speaking to her.  He just glared at her, awaiting her answer.  When she remained silent, he added “Well?” in a dangerous tone.  

He had reduced quite a few people to fear filled babbling with that tone - from slaves to nobles, few dared defy the dread wolf - so he was quite surprised when she matched his glower with one of her own.

He listened to her reply as he considered an appropriate punishment.  Defiant, and spouting nonsense.  The woman was obviously crazy, probably the best thing to do was frighten her so badly that she never considered returning.  When she mentioned that he shouldn't be able to see her, he belatedly thought to test her for magic.

She had some small store of power; unusual for a slave, but not unheard of.  Perhaps her master had found it useful.  Or perhaps June’s craftsmen had.  June would accept anyone who could create something useful, and she most likely had enough power for that.

She didn't have enough power to stand against him, of course, so he responded to her poor attempt at an apology with a wave of magic that would send her back down the mountain the short way.  Relatively unharmed even, which he figured was generous of him.

But it didn't work that way.  Somehow, she stood against his magic, and even challenged his handling of it.  It was this that finally caught his curiosity.  No one challenged him.

It wasn't until she asked for his name, though, that his curiosity eclipsed his anger.  She wanted his name?  All the people knew who he was.  Without ever setting eyes on him, he was immediately recognized, usually feared, and universally avoided.

This woman - slave - did nothing as expected.  She didn't recognize him, didn't fear him, didn't grovel or even defer to him.  She offered her hand, welcoming his touch as if it were the most natural thing in the world.  She was a mystery, and he loved a good mystery.  

That was why he answered her with a partial truth, telling her to call him Fen.  Surely it was only the mystery she presented that had him disguising his true nature.  

The small voice of his mind that whispered he was lonely, and this slave may provide a solution to that problem was quickly silenced.  That voice sounded disturbingly like Mythal, to be honest, but he pushed that thought aside as well.

He reached up and took her hand in his own, expecting at any minute that she would realize she was standing next to the Dread Wolf, and flee.  Probably screaming.  

His gesture was rewarded with nothing more than a firm handshake and a smile, though.

Interesting didn't begin to describe this.


	6. Chapter 6

They stood there, staring at each other, for several minutes, neither quite sure what to do next.

When the silence started to become uncomfortable, Lavellan ventured a question.

“Was your hunt successful?”

Fen’s eyebrows drew together in confusion, but his tone was haughty.  “I do not hunt.  And if I did, I wouldn't do it here.”

“Then what did bring you here?”

He jerked his head back toward the table and chairs.  “I was… practicing my painting skills.”

Lavellan frowned.  “You’re an artist?  Why are you ruining that lovely mosaic?”  At his scowl, she added quickly, “Your painting is impressive, but surely it would have been better applied somewhere else?”

Fen snorted derisively.  “That is the perfect canvas for my art, trust me.”

When he realized she was staring at him steadily, he turned and walked back to his paint.  Settling back to the ground, he resumed his work on the wolf’s tail.

“Why here?  How did you even know to come here?  Do you know what this place is, or what it’s for?”  The questions were spilling out of her now, as the hope that she might learn about the place came back to the front of her mind.

Fen gave another snort, but didn't look up from his work.  “I came here often with my... family.  It is our place.  And it is perfect for my… redecorating.”

Lavellan took a moment to ponder this reply, walking slowly around the table until she stood a few chairs away from him.  She laid her hand casually on the back of the chair she stood behind, and his head snapped around, his gaze landing on her hand before slowly tracking up to her face with a glower.  She raised an eyebrow, and lifted her hand deliberately off the chair.  When he returned his attention to his work, she ventured another comment.

“You've replied, but you didn't answer my question.  There is clearly more to this place than you’re telling me.  Why is that?”

This time, he ignored her question entirely, while his voice took on a patronizing tone.  “It is just as easy to mislead with truth as it is to mislead with untruth.  You must be naive indeed if you have not learned this.  The half truth, giving only a portion of the truth while concealing the part that would provoke an argument - or questions you do not wish to answer - this is an important skill.”

She frowned at him.  “That is a horrid thing to say, and even worse to deliberately mislead another like that.  Why would anyone wish to do such a thing?”

He snorted again, and her eyes narrowed with annoyance at the sound.  He could put a lot of meaning in that sound, and none of it was particularly polite.

“It is difficult to go through life lying all the time.  Difficult to keep your lies straight, difficult to think them up in the first place when you need them.  It is far easier to give a partial truth.

"Truth can be a weapon, when used correctly. Too much, too little, the right moment to speak, the right moment to remain silent.  You can make the truth serve you without ever departing from it."

Lavellan stared at him.  He was fascinating.  He was horrible.  She supposed she was beginning to see the accuracy of his comments, but it all seemed like a part of The Game that Josephine was always going on about.  "What you say may be true, but if you treat people like that, you can't be a very good person, can you?"

"A very good person?" he echoed incredulously.  "Very few things in this world are completely one thing or completely another.  It is what these mosaics were supposed to remind us of.  No one, not even one of us, could be entirely one thing; we are all shades and variations to make up a whole.  They forgot that, in the end."

He seemed to think he had said too much, and turned his attention back to his painting.  Lavellan watched him thoughtfully for a moment, then looked again at the mosaic on the chair in front of her.  She didn't know how to respond to his speech, or even whether she wanted to know more of his philosophies or not.

Before she could decide, she felt something tugging her from the Fade.  She took a few steps toward the fissure, and the noise became louder.  Someone was knocking on the door to her room.  She sighed, and looked back at Fen.

"I have to go, but I'll come back in a bit.  May I speak with you again?"

He didn't look up from his work, but his tone didn't manage to be as dismissive as he would have liked.  "If you wish.  I will most likely be here for some time."

Lavellan smiled, despite the somewhat off-putting response.  "Until later then, Fen."  

Turning, she allowed her consciousness to leave the Fade, and return to her body.

.................................................................................................................................................

When Lavellan opened her eyes, her room was quite dark and her stomach was rumbling.  She heard the knock again and called, “Enter!”

To her surprise, Solas came up the stairs, and she hastily brushed her hair back off her face.

When he caught sight of her, he froze, head tipping to one side as he studied her face.

“Something wrong, Solas?”

He blinked, and shook his head as if to clear it.  “Of course not, lethallin.  I experienced a moment of… what do the humans call it?  Deja vu.  I can’t place it, though, so no matter.  Have you been occupying your free time pleasantly?”

Lavellan froze.  The last thing she wanted was a lecture on travelling the Fade tat would delay her return to it.  Then she remembered Fen’s words, and smiled brightly at Solas.

“Yes, indeed.”  She gestured toward her desk.  “I’ve been reading what I can about the history of Skyhold, from the documents we found here when we arrived.  I also indulged in a most satisfying nap, which is what I was doing when you arrived.  Was there something you needed?”

He smiled somewhat indulgently, and forbore to ask what she had discovered about their new home.  “Varric is organizing a game of Wicked Grace this evening, and wished me to extend an invitation to you.”

For the first time, she was torn.  Wicked Grace was always entertaining, but she very much wanted to eat quickly and return to the Fade.  Even if they were taking time off she was still the Inquisitor, and as such she had responsibilities, so she nodded.  “Certainly.  Please tell Varric I’ll be there shortly.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two updates in a day? You'll all get spoiled... ;-)

He didn't realize he was enjoying the conversation until it was over. 

It wasn't often that he had someone to speak to, let alone someone who was a good listener. 

He had declined to accept worshipers from the beginning.  Worshipers created responsibility, and he wanted none of that.  He had flat out refused to accept slaves, and on the few occasions that a slave was given to him, he had wiped away their vallaslin, freed them, and sent them on their way. 

He had always seen through these attempts, any way.   

At best, they were an attempt to distract him, to attract his interest so he wouldn't interfere in the affairs of the one who gave him the slave.  It didn't work, and he always made sure to meddle more elaborately after such a “gift” in order to discourage repeat attempts.   

It generally worked, only Andruil had been stubborn enough to try to tempt him a second time.  After what he had done to her hunt on that occasion, she never tried again. 

At worst, the gifts were an attempt to change his mind, change his nature, force him to conform.   

He, who moved through two worlds, accepted by both groups but belonging to neither.  He refused to conform, and his anger at any and all attempts to force compliance had been swift, widespread, and clever.  He took a dark pleasure in living up to his reputation. 

All this meant, though, that he had never had someone who spoke to him simply to exchange thoughts; no ulterior motives, no hidden meanings.  Just a conversation. 

Kelara, however she had come to be in this forbidden place, had proven herself to be a good listener.  She may be naive, but she wasn't stupid.  He had watched her while he was talking, and new that she was thinking about what he said. 

Then came the surprise - she didn't just agree with him, she dared to form a contradictory opinion!  Not a good person.  He laughed at the memory of her words.  Indeed, he was not a good person, and he was fully aware of the fact.  He had been called many things, by both his fellow gods and by those who opposed them; very few of those things had been complimentary, most had been spoken in anger or frustration. 

She was the first though, to tell him the truth so bluntly, and with so little personal interest invested in it. 

He grinned slightly at the memory of her glare.  When was the last time anyone had glared at him with such casual annoyance?  He knew his wordless expressions were one of his more annoying habits; he blamed it on his wolf self, the wolf couldn't talk, and he had picked up some of it’s mannerisms.  If she didn't like his snorts, just wait until she found herself faced with the wide array of meaning behind his smiles.  Perhaps he could provoke another entertaining reaction from her when she returned. 

He hadn't meant to give away so much of the truth about the mosaics.  He knew she hadn't recognized him, somehow, and he didn't want her to figure it out before he tired of her.  He found himself slightly relieved when she had to go. 

He chewed on the handle of his paint brush for a minute, before glancing around the empty valley.  The silence had never bothered him before, and he had in fact come here in order to be alone. 

He just hadn't realized how lonely he was until she left. 

Standing, he picked up his paint pot, and threw it against the rock wall in front of him.  

He was breathing hard as he watched the black paint explode out in all directions and drip slowly down the impervious rock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couple notes for you this time.
> 
> On the last chapter (in case you don't read the comments): Solas really doesn't realize that he's (suddenly) met Lavellan previously. It is happening in the present for her, but from his perspective, all of this is in the distant past. So, the memories are there, but so far they aren't very significant, and he doesn't really remember them. It will take something big to make him remember something from so long ago.
> 
> On this chapter: I wasn't actually planning on including these bits of Fen's POV in the story - I wrote them as an exercise to keep his voice distinct as he and Lavellan talk. However, I ended up liking the way the last one fit, so I decided to try again. I am trying not to make them too repetitive. They may continue or may not, we'll see. Opinions?


	8. Chapter 8

Wicked Grace had been as entertaining as expected, and Lavellan returned to her quarters wearing a smile.  She changed while eating the last few bites of a pastry she’d brought back with her, then climbed into bed.  A thought extinguished her candles, and left only the fire to provide light.  Settling back into the pillows she smiled; three more days of peace, three more days to explore.  It took very little effort to send her mind into the Fade.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

It was full day, here, the sun shining brightly on the white snow, and the ever-present wind blowing steadily.  There was a spring in her step as she made her way toward the fissure and along it.  Stepping back into sunshine on the other end, she stumbled to a halt.

It had changed.  There was a stark black smear on the cliff face to her right, with long trails of black reaching to the ground.  One of the chairs had been destroyed, smashed into pieces until nothing larger than her fist remained; the scorched smell of magic did, however.  She looked around, her eyes wide, as she paced slowly into the valley.  Several patches of grass were similarly scorched, and she wondered if he had called down a lightning storm to fight off some threat.

She caught sight of Fen at last.  He was lounging in one of the chairs, his feet swinging idly over one arm rest, with his arm braced on the other, his head resting in his hand.  He was watching her steadily.

She looked at him, then at the destroyed chair, and raised one eyebrow in a silent question.  

“I lost my temper.  It looks better this way.”  His tone was bored, his languid pose didn't change at all.

Lavellan stared at him for a minute, then lifted her eyes to the black smear on the cliff wall behind him, ran her gaze over the scorched grass, before returning an eloquent gaze to his face.

This time he shrugged before repeating,  “I lost my temper.”

“That must have been some tantrum.  What caused you to lose your temper?”

“I found I was tired of being alone.”

“A few hours of being alone brought all this on?”  She gestured between the ruined chair and the paint splash.

“Hours?  It has been several weeks since last you were here.”  He was scowling at her now, though he seemed more annoyed with himself than her, and she blinked in surprise.

“I’m sorry, I should have considered that things might progress differently here.”  She looked around the valley again, wondering at his apparently reluctant explanation.  That brought her mind back to her previously unanswered questions and she looked at him.  “What is it that brought you to this place originally?”

He smiled, and she had to fight a shiver.  It wasn't an expression of joy, or even amusement.  It was a slow baring of his teeth; a practiced move meant to intimidate.  It was working.

“I came here to be alone.”

Lavellan snorted in disbelief, and at his sudden - genuine - grin, she realized she must be picking up bad habits from him.  The expression was fleeting, however, and an instant later he was glowering at her.

Suddenly, he rolled off the chair, the graceful motion ending with him balanced for a moment on the balls of his feet and one hand before he straightened and walked toward her.  His steps were smooth, silent, and deliberate.  Suddenly, she was reminded of her first assumption, that he was a hunter.  He had denied it, but she was starting to wonder if that hadn't been one of his carefully wielded bits of truth.  He moved like her clan’s best hunter did; and she was definitely feeling like prey.

When he was several feet away from her, he changed his angle to circle behind her.  She stood firm, refusing the show of weakness that turning to keep him in her sight would display.  

His voice came from behind her, and the tone had changed to something lilting, taunting.

“You think you can explain ME?  You think you can learn something here?”  He continued to circle her; their eyes met when he passed in front of her, but he didn't pause.  “There is nothing for you here, I told you that from the beginning.  You are playing with fire, da’len; you are pulling the wolf’s tail and you don’t even know it.”

He spun away from her and walked back over to the chair he’d been sitting in previously, and threw himself back into it.  He waved a hand dismissively at her.  “You may leave, now.”

Lavellan watched him in silence for another moment, then shrugged.  It was apparent that he wasn't in the mood for company, so she turned and walked out of the valley.

She wasn't about to waste this time in the Fade by leaving it, and she had another project in mind.  Despite Fen’s odd behavior, she was still pleased to be here, so she started humming one of the tunes Maryden had been singing that night.  By the time she passed out of the fissure and into the sun, she was singing quietly.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Fen’Harel  should have been relieved when she was gone.  

He’d spent too much of the time that she was gone going over their previous conversations.  He hadn't been pleased with them - he spent too much time not feeling in control of matters.

Who better to be in control, after all.  He was the last one left with any right to control things, the only one who had been at all interested in controlling things that didn't touch on his own personal pleasure or benefit.  That some upstart slave should come along and seize that control from him was unacceptable.

He’d shown her, though.  He had been slightly impressed that she had simply stood there and let him circle her; few felt comfortable with the Dread Wolf at their back.  Nonetheless, he knew he had achieved his purpose.  She was properly intimidated and put in her place.

So why, then, was she humming?  His head snapped around, and he turned to gaze at the fissure leading out of the valley.  Yes; that was his intimidated, cowed, properly humbled interloper, singing some sort of light-hearted tune.  

She hadn't retreated at all, she’d just left him to sulk alone.  That thought had him growling again, and without pausing to consider his motivations, he was out of his chair and following her out of the valley.

He should have been relieved that she was gone, yet he wasn't.  

He did have the presence of mind to draw a concealing spell around himself so she wouldn't be able to see him before he stepped out of the fissure and looking for her.

She was doing the most inexplicable thing.  

She’d just come up the path from the waterfall cave, and was standing near the edge of the cliff.  Then she started walking forward, placing one foot directly in front of the other, her heel and toes just touching.  Her mouth moved as if she was speaking.  

She paused after some distance and looked around, getting her bearings.  Then she started the whole process again, this time walking in a straight line toward where he stood.  Startled, he checked his spell; it was intact, so she stepped to the side.

She wasn't coming toward him at all, she was going toward the fissure.  She got to the opening and stopped, muttering numbers under her breath before she spun around for one last look at the scenery.  Then she vanished.

Fen’Harel threw himself into his wolf form and loped away from that place, too confused by his reactions to do anything but run.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There wasn't enough of Fen's POV to be it's own chapter this time, so it's included with this one. Probably better this way, since it more immediately highlights his capricious mood.


	9. Chapter 9

Opening her eyes in her room, Lavellan was pleased to see it was still several hours before dawn.  The residents of Skyhold should be safely in bed, which would afford her the privacy to pursue her mystery.  She stood and dressed quickly before slipping down the stairs and into the great hall.

A quick glance proved that no one was about, so she quickly crossed the dais and eased the door to the undercroft open.  Once there, she saw that the entire keep wasn't asleep - Dagna was working on some project or other.  That was alright, Dagna’s projects were always so strange that she never seemed to find anything odd about what anyone else was doing.

Lavellan quickly made her way to the waterfall, and stood with her back to it.  Walking carefully, she counted her steps until she reached the staircase.  Scampering up the stairs, she repeated the process back to the great hall.  She stopped there, and closed her eyes to get her bearings.  She tried to imagine the scene from the Fade, and turned toward where the fissure had been before opening her eyes.   

She walked forward as far as she could, then debated a bit, and turned to her left before walking toward the nearest door and through it, counting carefully and hoping she wasn't forgetting anything in the unfamiliar twists and turns.  Eventually, she reached the number that should have left her standing at the edge of the valley, and found herself at a door.  Taking a deep breath, she opened it, grinning when she saw where it led.

She couldn't be sure, of course, that the Fade had shown her distances accurately, or that she had figured her trajectory accurately.  She hoped so, though, because having that ancient valley be the location of Skyhold’s garden pleased her.  Usually a fairly popular place, the garden was currently deserted.  

She walked out to the middle of the courtyard, wondering if the hushed unreality she felt was an echo of that valley, or simply the knowledge that she had walked in the same place separated by thousands of years.  Finding a nice bit of grass with an unobstructed view of the sky, she laid down and stared at the stars.

Finally she sat up with a feeling of vast content, and made her way back to her room.  She’d check on Fen, and see if he was feeling more like being civil now.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

Lavellan made her way down the fissure, and hoped that Fen’s temper had improved.  She stopped about halfway along when she heard singing, in more than one voice.  She smiled slightly, perhaps his family had joined him after all.  

As she listened to the singing, her eyebrows slowly rose.  The song wasn't one she recognized, but it was definitely something one would hear in a tavern.  Now, the Inquisition had a rather talented bard singing in their tavern (Lavellan was particularly fond of the song Maryden had written about Sera, and Maryden never failed to play it when she saw the Inquisitor settling in for a drink and a chat); this was different though, definitely not something that should be sung in polite company.

Lavellan grinned as she listened.  Off color tavern songs?  It sounded exactly like Fen’s style, actually; perhaps he got along better with his family than his recent behavior suggested.  She started walking again, moving quietly so as not to interrupt them.

When she stepped into the valley though, she stopped short.  Fen sat in the chair she’d seen him in before, and while the rest of the chairs were occupied, they weren’t occupied by living beings.  They were filled with magical projections, each unique enough that she suspected he was recreating people he knew - probably his family.

From a mage’s standpoint, it was masterfully done.  Each projection was fully detailed, complete with unique gestures and distinct voices.  Each sang along and wore expressions ranging from wild enjoyment to grudging participation.  She looked around at them all for a moment, before focusing on Fen.

He was lounging in his chair in what she suspected was his usual pose.  He wasn't singing, though one hand waved back and forth as though he were directing the singing - which he was, after all.  He was also convulsed with laughter, and seemed to have been for some time, tears leaking from his eyes as he chortled to himself, and launched his family/puppets into a new and shockingly raunchy tune.

Lavellan stepped up to the table across from him, folded her arms over her chest, raised an eyebrow, and waited for him to notice her presence.  It didn't take long.

He opened his eyes and sat up, the directing hand stilled and the projections froze as the singing cut off abruptly.

“Ahh, you’re back.  You've stumbled upon our first ever family concert, what do you think of it?”  He stood in a fluid motion and rounded the table toward her.  

She watched him, trying to decipher his mood as he paced toward her.  “It was certainly enlightening.  I've never heard those songs before.”

He smiled at that, the same deliberate gesture that she’d seen the last time they spoke.  “Well, I do sponsor several bards, and not only for nefarious purposes.”

Lavellan grinned.  “Nefarious bards?  I know someone who would approve.  What nefarious purposes do you put your bards to?”

Fen settled back in his chair, and assumed a thoughtful expression.  Then he waved suddenly at the woman sitting in the chair with the yellow mosaic.  “She loves to hunt, you know.  She as always planning elaborate hunts with her most fawning sycophants, and then holding a huge banquet afterward, complete with bard to regale the guests with tales of the day’s glories.  She was supposed to figure prominently into these tales, as you might imagine.”

Lavellan watched him, fairly sure she knew where this tale was going.  She kept her expression politely interested though, it was fascinating to watch him speak.

“Well, I managed to convince the bards hired for the occasion that they would garner much more renown if they were to sing songs similar to those you've just heard.  I made sure not to interfere with the instruction that she still be the star of the tale, of course.”

Lavellan choked at his patently false expression of virtue, and he grinned at her.  Leaping from his chair, he walked toward her.  

“You can imagine, I’m sure, how the event proceeded.  The bards were called forward.  They were sly creatures, and began with exactly such a tale as she had commissioned.  Then when all concerned were lured into a false sense of security…” he raised his arms and snapped his fingers, causing his projections to sing a song that quickly had Lavellan blushing a brilliant red.

Fen laughed at her expression, as she pressed her hands to her flaming cheeks, and bit her lip in an attempt to keep her own laughter inside.  When the song reached it’s chorus, however, she couldn't help herself.  Laughing until tears streamed from her eyes, she lost sight of Fen as she imagined the reaction at a formal banquet.  

When she had regained control, and blinked her eyes clear, she looked at Fen.  He was standing near her wearing a smug smile.

“I may have to borrow that plan the next time Josie forces me to a formal banquet.”  He looked curious, but she waved away the comment before he could question her.  Nodding back to his now silent companions, she asked, “And did the bards gain the renown you’d enticed them with?”

He lost all expression, and simply watched her for a moment..  Lavellan felt a shiver go down her spine at his studiously blank look.

“I regret to say they did.  Posthumously.  She had them executed for the offense.”  He turned away from her, but didn't move any further, crossing his arms tightly over his chest as he stared blindly at the table.

Suddenly, she was quite sure he’d never told the tale to anyone else, and she suspected he regretted telling it now.  

Without thinking, she stepped forward, and reached up to place a hand on his shoulder.  She felt his breath catch, and then a small tremor run through him as he released a shaky sigh.

They neither spoke nor moved for some time.


	10. Chapter 10

After the silence had stretched for some time, he took a step forward.  Lavellan let her hand slide down his back before falling back to her side.  He turned to face her and drew a deep breath before he spoke again.  “Well, since you’re here, and haven’t run screaming, shall I introduce my erstwhile relations?”

She tipped her head to the side and studied him.  “If you like.  I am curious about what you’re doing here.”

He grinned and gestured expansively.  “Just a little reunion with my family.  They won’t be able to attend in person, of course, but this is almost better.  No one fights this way.”

His previous cheerful mood was clearly returning, but there was something dark lurking under the surface.  She felt like he was watching her reactions more closely than the somewhat odd situation called for.

She gave a small nod, watching him while she tried to figure out where this was going.  “Indeed, that is an improvement on most family reunions, I would think.”

He laughed, and stepped around the table until he was standing behind the chair with the brown mosaic.  “Excellent point.  I’ll start here then.  This is June.”  He made the projection raise a hand and waggle its fingers at her as she stared in shocked silence.

He was waiting for a response, so she finally managed, “An interesting choice of name.  Your parents must have been rather bold.”

He walked around the table, and stopped behind the green mosaic chair.  “Well, this would be the person to ask.  This is Mythal, the so-called mother of the gods, and the best of them - us.”

She just gaped at him, believing and disbelieving at the same time.

“I betrayed them, did you know that?  That’s why you won’t find June here, no matter how often you come.  Nor any of the rest.”  Suddenly, his mood shifted again; he looked fierce and ready for a fight.

He rounded the table with quick, angry strides, and barged his way into her personal space, standing barely a breath away.  “So I fixed it.  I tricked them, and now instead of being alone because I don’t care to spend time with fools, I am alone because there are no fools to spend time with.”

He spun away from her, stalking toward the table and remaining chairs.  With a wave, the elves whose images he created sat still and silent, looking regal, full of power and wisdom.  

Even the broken chair now had an image floating above it, and somehow this image was the most impressive of all; a stern male, features pulled into a frown that was still somehow compassionate.

He stalked around the table, glaring at her the entire time, ignoring the images he’d filled the valley with.  He waved, and a lightning bolt struck the top of one of the cliffs surrounding the valley.  She was the only one who jumped.

“This is how you picture your beloved gods, isn't it?  Kind, powerful, wise?  You are as foolish as they are.  They used their vaunted power not for the good of those who relied upon them, but for their own amusement, their own aggrandizement!”

He gestured angrily at the mosaic on the table’s surface, where the colors from each chair swirled together to create a pattern she couldn't name, a meaning she couldn't quite grasp.

“They made this, claimed they understood it, but they didn't.  They were meant to work together, but instead each worked for themselves.  They were going to destroy it all.  Everything!  Everything they’d worked for, everything they’d created or nurtured, and not one of them would have cared or missed it if only they could have proven their superiority to the others.”

He gestured again, and a lightning bolt struck the ground between them, making her jump again.

“They were so wrapped up in their petty war, and then the best of them was murdered, and they blamed me.  ME!  And why?  Because I had always told them the truth about themselves, not the pretty lies they wanted to hear; the truth about what they were, and what they were doing.  Because I refused to become like them.”

Another gesture, another lightning bolt.  This time, she didn't jump.

“Mythal had asked me to try to find a way to peace before she was killed, so I did.  I ended the war!  I protected them all from themselves!  And what do I get in return?  Hatred!  So you’ll forgive me if I don’t offer your beloved gods the respect you think they’re due!”

He threw his head back and howled - the sound was sharp and clear as a wolf’s cry - as he raised both hands, and called the lightning again.  The energy struck all around her, but the center of the storm was focused on the table and remaining chairs.  When it stopped and she was able to clear the dancing lights from her vision, she gasped.

Seven of the remaining chairs had been reduced to rubble, leaving only one.  The grass was burned away so completely that only the solid stone of the mountain was left.  The great table had cracked and split down the middle, the halves toppled outwards to rest on their edges.  Only she and Fen remained unchanged, and as she watched, he sank down into the remaining chair and buried his face in his hands.

Lavellan opened her mouth to speak, but found her voice stolen by a new idea that the scene presented to her.  She had started to make the connection while Fen ranted, only to be distracted by his pyrotechnics; but now, looking at the eight empty chairs, and Fen sitting in the ninth, it was inevitable.

_Oh, dear Creators, she had been talking all this time to Fen’Harel himself._


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Emotions incoming. And then more emotions. And then a few more, just for good measure.

_Oh, dear Creators, she had been talking all this time to Fen’Harel himself._  

Lavellan stood frozen to the spot, panicking. 

The Dread Wolf. She’d been talking to - she had touched! - the Dread Wolf himself. Her curiosity had led her to do the worst thing possible. 

_The Dread Wolf had her scent and her days - her very **breaths** \- were numbered._  

She looked around wildly, the valley, the table, the rubble that had been chairs. She remembered the projections, and Fen’s - the Dread Wolf’s - laughter. He had tricked the Creators into withdrawing from the world, and locked them away. This man she had thought a simple hunter, a traveler, someone she had spoken to without a second thought… this man was responsible for the fall of Arlathan, the enslavement of her people, the deaths of untold thousands at the hands of the shems. She thought she might be sick. 

She should have told Solas what she was doing. Of course he made his forays into the Fade sound simple. He never could have guessed that she - the Inquisitor - would have time to experiment with the stories he told her. He never could have guessed that she - trained as her clan’s First - would be stupid enough to take traveling the Fade lightly. She should have told him what she intended, or at least asked for more details before attempting it herself. 

_The Dread Wolf had her scent, and she could blame no one but herself._  

She had no business taking risks with her life like this. As First, she was supposed to be protecting her clan from the very danger she had - willfully, blindly - run toward. As Inquisitor, she was supposed to be protecting herself as the the only person who could close the rifts. She doubted that the Dread Wolf would spare her on that account. If he could betray the Creators and the Forgotten Ones alike for his own purposes, the mortals who lived in Thedas now could hardly expect his mercy. 

She remembered the story her Keeper had told of the Slow Arrow. “When did I say that I would save you?” No, they couldn’t expect his mercy. 

_The Dread Wolf had her scent, and the best she could do was mitigate the damage._

She gathered her will, ready to propel her consciousness out of the Fade. She took one last look around at the site of her folly.

Her eyes landed on Fen.

He was still sitting in the single undamaged chair - his, she realized suddenly - his face hidden in his hands, his elbows resting on his knees. He looked… lonely. He was the Lord of Tricksters, the ultimate harellan… but his pose was dejected, defeated... and he looked lonely.

Lavellan sighed, remembering the first time she’d seen him. His haughty tones and dismissive attitude had provoked her to insult him. She was surprised now, that he had done nothing to harm her.

She had laughed at him, and with him.

She remembered his expression as he painted the mosaic stones, covering what had been there with his own symbol. The amusement in his eyes, and the utter concentration. She remembered his expressive snorts and his... unique… views on honesty.

_Oh, Creators, she had told him he wasn’t a nice person._

She moaned softly, feeling her cheeks heat with a blush. He could have flattened her right then, but he hadn’t. He had, to all indications, actually missed her when she was gone longer than she had anticipated.

What was she to make of that? Had he truly missed her, or had he just missed the opportunity to toy with her before using her to destroy everything she cared for?

She remembered his slow, dangerous smiles and his surprising gracefulness. She remembered the paw prints in the snow, and the low growl and too-numerous glowing eyes when she had dared to consider touching one of the chairs. It dawned on her that she hadn’t seen the signs of a hunter following a wolf, but the signs of one being who could shift between both forms.

_The Dread Wolf had caught her scent. She hadn’t even been hard to track._

But then, she remembered the sound of those tavern songs, and more - the sound of his laughter rising above it. It should have been sinister, that laughter, but she had enjoyed hearing it. He laughed with abandon, holding nothing back, without any feeling of self-consciousness about it.

She remembered him laughing with her, and at her, when she blushed at his song. She had laughed that time the way he did - freely, with nothing held back. It had felt glorious.

She remembered watching his face, the expression of smugness at her reaction, the look of satisfaction in a well played trick, as he told her about his bards.

She remembered the way his face had changed, had lost all expression, as he told her the fate of those bards. Anyone else would have tried to gain her sympathy, or tried to excuse themselves of the responsibility. But he had simply stated the facts, and left her to her own conclusions.

_The Dread Wolf had caught her scent. Was it possible that he had bigger things to worry about than her?_

Lavellan looked over at Fen again, and remembered how he’d turned away from her, crossing his arms over his chest. How he had reacted when she touched him. He hadn’t expected to be touched, to be comforted.

She remembered the stories her Keeper had told them, and she thought about the stories that were being told about her, despite her best efforts to stop them. For the first time, she wondered how far from the truth the stories about the Dread Wolf might be.

Thinking about those stories, and the things he’d said to her, she reached a surprising conclusion.

He Who Hunts Alone might be alone in more than just hunting.

Anyone who could be accepted by two opposing sides, probably didn’t feel truly welcome with either.

He was supposed to have laughed gleefully for centuries after tricking the Creators and the Forgotten Ones. It occurred to her that he might not have spent the whole time laughing.

_The Dread Wolf had caught her scent, and perhaps some good could come of it._

Before she could think better of it, remember all the reasons this was a bad idea, she made up her mind.

And so, instead of gathering her will, she gathered her courage.

She walked around the table, then slid between it and Fen’s chair. She knelt in front of him, and placed her hands lightly on his arms, just below his wrists.

He didn’t move, but she could hear his breath catch. So she, gently, tugged his arms down until he let them fall limply against his legs. She put a hand on his shoulder, and pushed gently until he was leaning back in the chair.

He didn’t stop her, but he refused to look at her.

Lavellan stood, then climbed onto that chair to sit next to him, her legs slung comfortably across his own.

He still didn’t look at her. She could feel him trembling from the tension in his body, but he was ignoring her as if he feared her.

She curled into him, until she was resting against his chest, her head laid in the hollow of his shoulder, her forehead pressed to the bare skin of his neck.

Slowly, almost reluctantly, he brought his arms around her, the movements stiff with uncertainty.

Lavellan did the only thing she could think of. She took a deep breath and spoke a single word. She spoke firmly, not too loud, not too soft. Not rushing over it, or avoiding the taste of it in her mouth. Her voice slid smoothly over the syllables, feeling the weight of them against her tongue.

“Fen’Harel.”

It was acknowledgment. It was acceptance.

Finally, she felt his muscles loosen, his whole body relaxing beneath her. His arms tightened around her, holding her as if he never intended to let her go.

_The Dread Wolf had caught her scent, and that was alright, because she had caught his._

It was enough. For both of them.


	12. Chapter 12

Lavellan didn't know how long they spent sitting there like that.

Long enough for her to lose track of how many times he ran his hand through her hair (after pulling out all the pins and unbraiding it rather impatiently).  Long enough to lose track of how many times he pressed a kiss into her hair, or tightened his arms around her as if he couldn't believe she was still there.  

Finally, she sat up and looked at him, only to be met with one of those slow grins that was more dangerous than amused.  She raised an eyebrow at him and wondered why he rolled his eyes.

“What now?”

She drew a breath and shrugged slightly.  “I don’t know, but there are some things I need to tell you before we decide how to go on.”

He nodded, and reached up to trace his fingers over the pattern of her vallaslin.  “Yes, I think so.  Will you start or shall I?”

She opened her mouth to answer, when she felt a tug from outside the Fade.  She winced and looked back at him.  “I have to go for a bit.”  As a mixture of pain and annoyance flooded his face she added quickly, “I will be back, as soon as possible.”  And then, under her breath, “After I kill whoever is interrupting me.”  

He let her go when she stood, and remained seated.  His features were closed now, and she knew he doubted her promise to return.  She braced her hands on the arms of his chair and leaned over him.  “I will be back.  Anyway, I doubt I could hide from you, Dread Wolf.”  That brought a smirk to his face and she smiled before leaning over and kissing him lightly.

She left quickly, before he could force a rushed explanation when she needed to give him a full one.  She felt somehow that it wasn't appropriate to leave the Fade directly from that place, and even less so to vanish in front of him, so she hurried through the fissure before propelling her consciousness out of the Fade.

In the moment before she opened her eyes, she heard two voices.

Cole was saying, “Do not disturb!  She is sleeping, soothing, saving.”

And Solas’ voice, cold, clipped and deliberate.  “That is precisely the problem I wish to address with her.  Inquisitor!”

Lavellan sat up and scowled at both of them.  “What are you doing in my quarters!  I said I didn't want to be bothered.”

Solas opened his mouth to answer, but Cole beat him to it.

“Solas came to yell at you.  You know who he was but not who he is.  He knew who you are but not who you were. So now he wants to yell at you.  I came to bring you breakfast.”  And with that, the spirit placed a tray of food on her bedside table, and vanished.

Lavellan sighed and rubbed her forehead.  “It is entirely too early for a conversation with that boy.”  He had brought her juice, though, so she quickly forgave him and poured herself a cup.  There were two cups on the tray, so she poured Solas a cup too, and left it there while she took a sip and looked at him enquiringly.

“What were you thinking, Inquisitor?  Were you even thinking?  How could you have done it?  Without guidance, without warning, you played with forces you didn't understand, and now look what has happened!”  

He seemed to be having some trouble keeping up with all the things he wanted to say, for his yelling degenerated into fragments of sentences for a time.  Lavellan sighed, and investigated the contents of her breakfast tray, directing a scowl in his direction whenever he managed to stop spluttering enough to swear at her or form a coherent insult.

Finally, he seemed to wind down, and actually gave her a chance to answer his questions.

“Look, Solas, I’m sorry.  You’re completely correct that I should not have experimented with a new magic by myself.  I should have asked you for more details about how you find memories in the Fade.  I just…” she sighed, and stood up, walking over to her desk to run her fingers down the books there.  “I just wanted to get back a little of who I was, do you see?  I was my clan’s first, and yes, I was responsible for their safety, but I was also responsible for learning as much as I could about magic and our history.  And it was different there.  No less important, but not nearly as… far reaching as being Inquisitor.

“Do you know, Josie is finding a way to get me into the Empress’s ball in a few months?  I’ll have to find a way to stop an assassin, put an end to any other plans Corypheus may have, and not embarrass myself in front of all the nobles of Orlais.  Nothing I did as first compared to that.  It’s just too much sometimes.  And I’ll do it, I’m not saying that, but I just wanted to spend some time as Kelara, Clan Lavellan’s First, instead of the Inquisitor, the Herald of Andraste, and hopefully savior of Thedas.  Do you understand?”

Solas was still scowling at her, but at least he was listening.  “Yes, I do understand.  But you didn't just experiment with a new magic, Inquisitor.  You changed the past!  Do you know that your ‘experiment’ woke me from a sound sleep?  You didn't ask, didn't have the courtesy to speak with me first.  You didn't even stop to think before you meddled where you should not have!”

Lavellan sighed, and turned away from him.  She walked out onto her balcony and stood with her back to him, her eyes fixed on the mountains.

“I know.  It was irresponsible, and it may have consequences I can’t see now, or avoid.  But I wouldn't do anything differently, even knowing that, even if I could undo it.  It was the right thing to do.  For both of us.  I’m sorry you disagree, but you weren't there; you’ll have to trust me on this.”

Solas started choking, and she spun around in concern.  He was standing with one hand braced on the wall near the balcony doors, and the other on his chest.  She started toward him, worried that he was seriously ill, but he held up a hand to wave her back.

She stood uncertainly, watching him as he got his breath back.  When he was again in control of himself, he straightened and shot her a penetrating look.

“At least promise me you won’t... sleep with... him!”

She rolled her eyes.  “Of course I won’t sleep with him, Solas.”  And, since she was after all very annoyed that he had disturbed her, she paused just long enough for a look of relief to start across his face before adding, “you of all people should know that no one _sleeps_ in the Fade!”

He scowled, and she felt bad for toying with him.  She had thought that they could share something special, until she began this new adventure.  She was readying her apology when he spoke again.

“You are correct, Inquisitor.  I will endeavor to trust your judgement.”

And then he turned and made his way down the stairs and out of her quarters, leaving her staring after him in confusion.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what *does* Solas think about all this? ;-)

Solas stormed across the great hall, ignoring the surprised glances of nobles who rarely paid any attention to him.  He waved off Varric's greeting, and only bothered with half the steps to the courtyard before jumping down the rest.  His quick strides carried across the courtyard and up the crumbling stone steps to the battlements.  He found a quiet corner that wasn't often patrolled and quickly established a pattern of pacing back and forth.

This was all the Inquisitor’s fault.  

This wasn't in The Plan.  Granted, ‘The Plan’ had gone through so many changes since he first made it that it was hardly recognizable, and might not even qualify as a ‘plan’ at all anymore, but it was still her fault.  He was meant to be in control, he was Fen’Harel, after all!  How had he lost control of events?

He’d woken from uthenera, and been horrified to find what that the plight of the elvhen had been while he slept.  All his work, all his sacrifices, had been pointless.  Three quarters - at least! - of the people were either enslaved or oppressed by humans; the remaining few were free, but at what cost?  They had so little power as to be laughable, and so little concept of what they had been that there was literally no way in which they could ever reclaim the dream of Arlathan.  

They knew nothing, and they had nothing except pride.

Pride.  Well, he could understand that.  In fact, when he discovered just what Time had done to his name, he chose a new one.  Solas.  Few understood just how fitting a name it was.

So he made a Plan.  Reclaim his place, lead these shemlen elves to some semblance of the ancient glory, and then everything would be as it should have been, and his sacrifices would mean something.

The first flaw in his plan was immediately and painfully apparent.  His own power reserves had dwindled while he slept.  Not surprising when he realized exactly how long he had slept.  Still, it was infuriating.  Those reserves had taken centuries to build up, and he didn't have the time to replenish them now.

At least he still had his foci, that should make up for whatever power his own reserves lacked.  This had been the first change in the Plan, and had led quickly to the discovery of another flaw.  He lacked enough power even to active his orb.  He didn’t need to vie with the others for control over this world, so why was it so difficult to maintain?  Infuriating.

At least this dilemma was easily solved, or so he thought.  He would simply find a mage of this time to activate it for him, and properly reward the man when the work was done.  Unfortunately, such a plan could only have been formed by one who was unused to being thwarted, or who had a towering sense of his own importance in the world.  Solas had both qualities in abundance, and this plan too went awry.

The next Plan had actually been a good one.  Lay a trap for Corypheus, take back the orb, and kill the upstart.  Not necessarily in that order.  The flaw this time lay not in the plan, but the execution.  Used to the days of Arlathan, when great magics could take years to craft, and great mages could spend years on a single spell, he simply moved too slowly for this quick-paced shemlen world.  Before he could act, Corypheus had planned his own ritual to unlock the orb, and acted on it.

The Conclave was destroyed, and the breech hovered in the sky, spewing demons.

There had still been a tickle of power coming from this side of the veil, though, and he had followed it to Haven.  Discovering the prisoner, and the anchor, had changed The Plan yet again.  He would follow her, assist her, and see if he could either take the power back for himself, or use her to foil Corypheus’ plans and regain his orb that way.  But either way, he would be in control of what happened, whether he controlled the magic directly, or indirectly by controlling the Inquisitor.

Nowhere in The Plan had there been room for her to be interesting.  Amusing.  Intelligent.  And, yes, attractive.  He had planned for none of those, and had tried to ignore them.  The Plan clearly required that he have no entanglements.

Un-entangled.  A good Plan.  And ultimately, flawed.  He was drawn to her with a subtle pull that was impossible to deny.  Not that he didn't try, of course.  She didn't help matters, with all the friendly conversations, all the probing questions and delicate flirting.  He resisted as much as possible, but then he made a mistake.

He had taken her to the Fade, where he was more comfortable than anywhere in the world.  In Haven, in Skyhold, it was simpler to remember who and what she was; simpler to avoid the attraction he hadn't been able to deny.  In the Fade, those reminders were gone; this was his place, he belonged here, and so when she looked at him with those wide blue eyes, he hadn't been able to resist kissing her.

It was a mistake, and he had immediately retreated from her.  He had refused to discuss it, and carefully kept his tone bland when she tried to talk to him.

Even with all the changes his Plan had been forced through, this one had never occurred to him.  That she would find a way to travel the Fade as he did, walking through memories, and cause his past self to somehow not only see her, but to fall in love with her?  He never could have foreseen that.  

That she didn't realize who he was yet was a blessing, but he was certain it would be a very short-lived blessing.  She was smart, and she would figure it out eventually.

This definitely called for a New Plan, but for the first time, he didn't have even the slightest idea of where to start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay - I've been feeling under the weather, and cold medicine causes a distinct lack of grammar for me. ;-)


	14. Chapter 14

When she walked back into the valley, Fen’Harel was sitting in the same place she’d left him.  He was watching her as she emerged from the shadows, and she smiled.

He stood slowly, and walked over to her, and only stopped when he was towering over her.

“Tell me why it is that you don’t exist halfway down the fissure.”  He wasn't - quite - scowling, but he didn't look pleased.

Lavellan sighed.  “Ah.  Well, I’m not actually here.  I mean, I am, clearly, since you can see me, but not really.”

She wasn't surprised when this slightly less than helpful answer didn't change his expression.  She took his hand and led him back over to the chair.  He went, wordlessly, and let her arrange them back in the chair; also wordlessly.

“I don’t know when this is, exactly, but it is a long way in the past, for me.  I came exploring here in the Fade, I didn't expect anyone to be able to see me, or hear me.  I don’t know how that happened.”

His eyes narrowed as he considered this.  “You don’t exist outside of this valley.  I wonder if it would be the same if we left.  Even tracking you, I lost your scent halfway through the fissure.”

She nodded.  “Do you remember, when we first met?  You didn't notice me at all, until I stepped toward you.  There was a flare of magic, and then you saw me.  I thought at first that it might be the anchor,” she held her hand up to show him the flare of magic there, then shrugged, “but now that I know what this place, and who you are, it could be that, too.  A friend told me that the veil is thin in places where there has been great magic, or great battles.  I figure this place saw some of both, yes?”

He laughed, finally relaxing and bringing his arms around her.  “Yes, it certainly did see both.  So what do we do now?  You aren't really here, and I don’t know where you are in your time.”

Lavellan smiled at him.  “It should be simple enough, though boring for you, I suppose.  It might be a long wait.”   Her smile faltered a bit.  “I’ll understand if you don’t want to wait for me.”

“Don’t want to wait for you?  I’m immortal, a few centuries or so won’t change things for me.  You’re the first person who has seen me - and accepted me - for who I am, I don’t think you realize what that means to me.  You’re… ma sa’lath, ma vhenan.”

Her smile was blinding.  “Ar lath ma, vhenan.  Thank you.”  When he leaned down to kiss her, she slipped her arms around his neck and held him there.

Finally he pulled back, and gave her one of his slow, dangerous smiles.  He stood, still holding her, before letting her slide down until her feet touched the ground.

Before he could do anything else, she twined her fingers together behind his neck.  “Thank you.”

He smiled at her, curiously.  “What for?”

“You saw me.  No one does.  They see their clan’s First, or the Herald of Andraste, or the Inquisitor.  Even the few people who can look past those things to see me are people who I have to lead, who I have to order into battles that may cost their lives.  I tell myself that I have to keep them at a distance, that I can’t let them see only Kelara, because of that; but the truth is, that if I weren't those other things, they wouldn't look at me at all.  

“Oh, they’re all very kind, but I’ve always felt like a bit of an outsider.  But you saw me from the first.  And I won’t say I wasn't surprised by your little revelation the other day, but it didn't matter, because I saw you.”

She moved one hand to his temple, threading her fingers through the hair there.  “Your laugh, your smile, your sense of humor.  That haughty tone you used at me.  Even your insufferable snorts. I saw all those things, and your name didn't matter.”

“We fit, you and I; like casting a complicated spell, and getting every aspect exactly correct, they saying that final word that locks it all together.  None of the rest of it matters, if I know you’ll come for me.”

He sighed, and tightened his arms around her in a fierce hug.  “You’re the first person who has seen me - and accepted me - for who I am, too.  I don’t think you realize what that means to me.  Come, ma vhenan, let me show you something.”   

She watched magic ripple from his fingers, then turned to see that he had created a pavilion behind her.  It was quite large, with a wood roof and supports.  The sides were curtained in grey and blue silk, and the inside was piled with pillows.  Lavellan smiled and looked up at him.

“It’s lovely.  And very sweet.  I’m not sure we should do this here, though.”

His eyebrows rose.  “I’m quite sure we should, there is no one to disturb us, after all.”

She laughed.  “It’s just that, the friend I told you about?  He was quite angry that I’d changed the past, and he warned me against sleeping with you here.  Are you certain this isn't a mistake.”

He set his hands on her hips and pulled her closer until she was facing him, then leaned down and pressed his forehead to hers, letting the tips of their noses brush.

“This isn't a mistake.  There is nothing that can harm either of us here - in this place, or in this time.”  He started walking them towards the pavilion, nudging her backwards until they reached it.  “Besides, vhenan, you don’t need to worry about his warning.  No one sleeps in the Fade.”

He was slightly surprised when this caused her to dissolve into giggles, but used it to his advantage and tumbled her back into the nest of pillows he’d created.  

Then he distracted her quite thoroughly from worries and giggles.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Quite some time later, Lavellan stretched luxuriously, before propping herself up on one elbow to smile at Fen’Harel.  He was watching her intently, his eyes tracing over her from her rather mussed hair, all the way down to her toes, and back up.  When he felt her eyes on him, he met her gaze and smiled back before turning serious.

She saw the change in his expression and sat up, pulling her clothes back on slowly.  He did the same, yanking his shirt on before reaching back to the pile.  “How will I find you, in this future of yours, ma lath?”

She smiled at him, and waved around the valley.  “It will be fairly simple, actually.  I will be right here.  All you have to do is…” her voice trailed off as he pulled a leather thong over his head and turned back to face her.  Her gaze was fixed on the pendant that her wore, and when he went to tuck it back into his shirt, she put out a hand to stop him.

“Wait, is that a wolf jaw bone?”  He nodded and she stared at him, searching his face.  “I’ve seen this before.”  She pushed to her feet, and started pacing, chewing on a lock of hair that fell across her face, as she thought.  “That’s how he knew; that’s why he was so upset.  Not out of concern for me, but that it would blow his cover.”  

She spun back to Fen’Harel, who had pulled his pants on and stood watching her.  “Do you always wear it?” Another nod, and she started to smile.  “It’s possible that you already have found me.”

She reached further, and just before her outstretched fingers touched the bone, she flicked a questioning glance at him.  When he nodded once, she touched the jaw bone, and let a small trickle of power flow into it.  Leaning back, she gestured to the bone.  “Can you feel it?”

He put a hand on it, and nodded.  “Yes.  But what does that have to do with anything?”

“If I’m right, we’ve already met.  You haven’t told anyone who you truly are, and I am rather annoyed by that, just so you know, but you’re helping us.  Helping me.  This may be simpler than we thought, at least the end of it.  Listen closely.  In my time, this whole mountain is a fortress - and if I’m right, you led us here.  This valley is a garden, a lovely one.  When you remember, meet me there.”  

“I should warn you, that I sincerely want to smack you, if you show up how I think you will.  And before you try to duck out of it, vhenan, know that I won’t leave until you come.”

With that, she gave him a quick kiss and turned, leaving the valley.  As usual, he lost all sense of her when she made her way along the fissure, and just stood there, staring after her in confusion.

 


	15. Chapter 15

Solas had paced himself out, but he stayed on the battlements, unwilling to return to the rotunda where there wasn't any privacy.  Usually, this didn't bother him, but he was fairly sure the Inquisitor would be returning to the Fade, and he didn't want any distractions when the new memories hit.

He walked slowly around the secluded corner, occasionally glancing over toward Lavellan’s balcony, probing at his memories the way one probed at a sore tooth, waiting for something new to be there.

Despite all his anticipation, when that incessant probing finally turned up a new memory, he wasn't ready for it.  He sank down in a corner, his back pressed to the stone walls and his knees drawn up to his chest as the new memories washed over him.  He hadn't held much hope that she would pay any attention to his request to refrain from physical intimacy with his younger self, but what came before was actually worse.  He leaned his forehead against his knees, and as her laughter danced through his memory, he wrapped his arms around his head.  

Before he could fully process his horror at her discovery, the weight of centuries of missing her slammed into him at once, making him gasp and nearly overwhelming his self control.  To have lived with his self imposed loneliness was one thing; to suddenly add a desperate longing for his vhenan over those centuries was something else entirely.  He sat in that abandoned corner, rocking slightly back and forth, trying to find some solid emotional ground before he went to speak with her.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

When Lavellan opened her eyes in her room, she felt the danger of her experiments for the first time.  It would be all too easy to remain there, in the Fade, with him, indefinitely.  She wasn't one of her ancestors - powerful and immortal - to be able to survive uthenera.  She’d heard tales of mages who were beguiled into never leaving the Fade; they never ended well.  While she was eager to speak with Solas, she hated the thought of leaving Fen’Harel for so long.

Sighing, she stood and went to the fireplace, swinging the small tea kettle over it.  She would need some assistance in pulling her mind completely from the Fade today.  While the water heated, she washed up and brushed her hair.  For the first time since the Conclave, she left it to flow in loose waves down her back instead of braiding it up.  

She poured a cup of tea, sipping carefully before she moved to the trunk that held her things; not her Inquisition belongings, but the personal things Deshanna had sent her when it became apparent she would be staying with the Inquisition indefinitely.  It had hurt, at the time, knowing her Keeper didn't expect her to return to the clan, but she saw the sense in it.  Now, finally, she was pleased to have it.

Opening the trunk, she pulled out a dress.  It was the only one she owned, since it wasn’t a very practical thing to wear in the forest, but it was special.  She had made it herself; chosen the shimmery, silvery fabric and added the enchantment that made it flash with subtle purple highlights when she moved.  She slipped into the dress and smiled at her reflection in the mirror.  This dress was to have been worn at the ceremony that would have made her Clan Lavellan’s Keeper; since that was no longer a possibility, she thought that wearing it for this would be appropriate.  

Carefully, she donned a cloak, making sure it covered the dress and was closed in the front.  Pulling the hood up hid her loose hair, making sure no one would be able to see the extraordinary changes to her usual image.  

Descending the stairs from her room, she paused on the dias to speak with the soldiers who guarded her door.

“Please go to the courtyard garden, and ask anyone who is there to leave, I will be using it for a time and do not wish to be interrupted.  Don’t worry about keeping people away, I’ll set wards that will prevent anyone from accidentally wandering in.  If anyone has concerns, please ask them to speak with Josephine.”

She watched as he hurried off, then headed to the kitchens.  After a quick meal, she made her way to the courtyard, pleased to find it empty.  As promised, she set her wards, penetrable only to Solas, and took a slow walk around the garden.

It had changed too much for her to be able to tell where the table had been, or where the pavilion had stood, so she made her way to one of the little grass and wildflower covered hillocks, and knelt there comfortably.  Settling back until she was sitting on her heels, she folded her hands loosely in her lap, closed her eyes, and concentrated on her breathing.  She knew it might be some time before Solas arrived.  

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………

When he did come, his steps were uneven across the grass before he knelt in front of her, mimicking her posture, his knees brushing hers.  She opened her eyes, and looked at him.

He felt… shattered.  They stared at each other in silence for several minutes, then her eyes dropped to the wolf jaw bone he wore.  She lifted a hand towards him, but stopped short of touching it.  

She looked back up at him and asked softly, “May I?”

He was having trouble catching his breath, but he nodded.  She brushed her fingers lightly against the bone, and he caught her hand, pressing it against his chest with the bone between them, and sighed softly.  They both felt the whisper of her power there.  She closed her eyes, before looking back up at him.

“Fen’Harel.  Vhenan.”  Her voice was barely a whisper, but he heard her, and was ready when she flung herself forward, catching her and holding her tightly.

She whispered the words over and over as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and held on.  He couldn't help the shudder that went through him as his arms settled - so familiarly! - around her waist.

He remembered her settling into a chair with him, her head resting against him just as it was now, her forehead pressed against the bare skin of his neck.  The memory was vivid, and for the first time he regretted the high neck of his tunic for costing him that feeling again.

He smoothed his hand down her hair.  Had he ever seen her wear it loose?  He had memories of it, and remembered preferring it that way.  She always wore it braided and twisted back now, though; she must have left it loose for him.

Finally, she lifted her head and pressed a kiss against the corner of his jaw.  Then, she pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, glared at him, and smacked him upside the back of his head.  It was a rather half hearted smack, but he understood.

“How could you?  You lied to me!”

He leaned forward to rest his forehead against hers before answering.

“What should I have told you?  That I was the Betrayer your people fear and revile?  That an elvhen god wanted to assist you?  Would you have believed me?  Trusted me?”

She shook her head, gently so as not to lose the contact between them.  “I suppose it would have been difficult to explain.  And now?”

“I don’t know, vhenan.  I love you, and thanks to your meddling, I have for a long time.  But we still have a job to do.  I won’t interfere with your work.”

“And what shall I call you, then?”

He laughed.  “It is probably best to continue calling me Solas where others might hear.  Unless you care to explain all this to, say, Cassandra?”  

“I suppose that would be nearly impossible.”  She laughed at the thought before adding, “and in private?”

“Anything you like... Kelara.”

She kissed him, and whispered his name against his lips.  With a growl, he pulled her against him, and the kiss became complicated.  Slowly, he stood and drew her to her feet with him.

“That is a lovely dress, vhenan.  Perhaps we could go put it away before it gets ruined.”  

He was pleased to hear her laughter in truth, and that it matched the laughter in his memory.  She shrugged back into her cloak and followed him out of the garden.  

As they climbed the stairs to her quarters, she added lightly, “There isn't anything else you’re keeping from me, is there?”

She didn't catch the slight hesitation before he answered.  “Of course not, vhenan.”

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Much later that night, she slipped back into the Fade, and made her way to the valley, hoping to catch him there.  

Fen’Harel was there, looking pensive.  When he saw her, he stood and took her into his arms wordlessly, holding her tightly.

Finally, he looked down at her.  “Did it work?  Did I find you?”

Lavellan smiled at him.  “Yes, you did.”

He breathed a sigh of relief.  “I’m glad.  It will make the wait easier.”  He hesitated, then added, “I can’t stay here, Kelara.  I don’t know if you’ll be able to find me when I’m elsewhere, though.”

She nodded.  “I know.  And I can’t keep spending so much time asleep in my quarters.  I wish I could, but there are things I need to do.  And… the temptation is dangerous.”

“I understand.  Ma’arlath, vhenan.  I will miss you.”

She leaned up for a kiss.  “I will see you again, vhenan.  Be patient, emma lath.”

Smiling, she left the valley for the last time.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ack, it's almost over! Just one more chapter to go!


	16. Chapter 16

He was watching a host of spirits re-enact the battle of Ostagar when the Fade flickered around him, and the wolf bone amulet twitched.  He knew what it was immediately, of course, and he was on his feet, running straight through the ephemeral battle before the flicker had passed.

When he arrived at Wisdom’s corner of the Fade, she was sitting calmly, waiting for him.

“It’s her, isn't it?  Kelara?  I felt the ripple of her magic.”

Wisdom studied him for a moment before nodding slowly.  “Yes, she has pulled power from the Fade for a spell for the first time.  There is some time yet, but you should perhaps begin to put your plans into motion.  Please remember what we've spoken of.  You mustn't be too rash.”

He nodded, grinning fiercely and ignoring her cautioning words; in a moment he was gone, vanishing from the Fade.

Fen’Harel awoke in the Crossroads, and made his way confidently to the eluvian he had determined would be closest to the mountain peak where he had first met Kelara, so many centuries ago.

He was shocked to find the eluvian dark and inoperative.  He went to the next, and found the same thing.  Scowling now, his temper rising, he searched among the inactive eluvians for some time, before his impatience won.  Instead of carefully testing each mirror, he sent a blast of magic out in all directions, and followed it to whichever eluvians had been activated.  There were far fewer than he had expected, and a shiver of premonition tickled down his spine.

Finally, he found one, and emerged in a small village temple to Mythal.  The temple was in ruins, and his temper rose again.  How dare they neglect this place?  He would be certain to set the villagers here straight.  He strode out of the temple, trailing power behind him.  It didn’t take long to see why the temple was a ruin - the whole village was in a similar state.  He stared around, his mind going blank.  How had this happened?

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………

It didn’t take him long to discover that he had woken to a world that was, if not in a worse state than the one he had hoped to avoid, at least in a situation every bit as dire.  It was infuriating, that all his effort and his great Betrayal should have had no benefit whatsoever.  What remained of the elves of Arlathan were either frightened slaves and city dwellers, or fumbling savages proudly maintaining what - usually incorrect - bits of history they could discover.

He finally managed to control his rage long enough to make a plan.  He must find Kelara, reclaim his place, and lead what was left of the elvhen back to their rightful glory.  He quickly found, however, that his diminished power wasn't even up to the task of locating his vhenan, let alone anything else; he decided to remedy that problem first.

He thought it would be easy - the so-called Dalish were quite fearful of him, and in a way this pleased him inordinately.  It should be a simple matter to intimidate some mage into unlocking his Orb, and he could carry on with his plan.

He blamed the centuries of sleep for the fact that he so badly misjudged the mage he selected for this task.  That betrayal infuriated him, and he took himself out to deep forest to rage in peace.  He found that destroying a few boulders and trees wasn't sufficient, but he didn't dare call a lightning storm in a forest.

He was increasingly frustrated with the delay in finding his vhenan.  What if something happened to her before he found her?  He was well aware that she did not know him at this point - most of his conversations with the spirit of Wisdom had revolved around that fact and how it should inform his behavior.  

Now though, he was more concerned with what she would think of him for losing the Orb and the potential for danger that the loss caused.  He was frustrated and angry, and the self-hatred he had always been prone to threatened to overwhelm him as he stalked through the forest into a small glade.  There was a still lake there, and he stomped over to it, observing his reflection for some time.  

He remembered the way Kelara had looked at him - really seeing him - through all their interactions.  He remembered the way her fingers would thread gently through the hair at his temples, and how she stared into his eyes without any fear or loathing.  

She had loved Fen’Harel, when no one - not even he - could do so, and he had repaid that love with nothing more than years of longing.  He had nothing to show for her esteem, nothing to offer to win her love again.

Suddenly, his failures seemed too much weight to bear, and certainly too heavy for her to love him.  With a growl, he called a stream of magic to his fingers, and wiped the hair from his skull, leaving it bald and smooth and making him look suddenly older.  A second flare of power changed the color of his eyes.  He looked nothing like himself, now; nothing like the arrogant god who had somehow captured her heart.

Nodding to his changed reflection, he stood, and followed the pull of magic in his Orb.  He would fix this failure, and then find her and tell her the truth.  Until then, it would be best if she didn't know of him at all.

He couldn't be Fen’Harel again until he was worthy of her love.  

Until then, he would adopt a name that would remind him of the reason for his many failures: pride.

He would be Solas.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End! Thank you to everyone who read and left kudos or bookmarked; and especially to everyone who commented - I loved them all! There will be one update tomorrow with NEWS.


End file.
